Do Not Go Gentle
by fadingvoice
Summary: This is the story of Georgiana Grex after the sinking of the Titanic. Her relationship with Harry while on board is explored, etc. A bit OOC
1. Chapter 1

"And when was the moment that you knew it was all over?" the man sitting across from me, his eyes sympathetic and kind, asked, his pen ready. I knew this question, it was something that everyone seemed to ask. My memory rushed, taking complete precedence, to the first time I'd been asked.

"When did you know that it was all over, miss?" a reporter asked me, shoving his tape recorder in my face as he grilled me for details. I'd only just gotten off the boat moments before, arriving in New York with my mother and father.  
"Don't you see she's just a girl!" my father snapped, obviously frustrated and exhausted from all that had happened. He was still recovering, his body thin and pale. While his scars from that night were visible, physical, mine were much more soulful in nature.  
"And who are you, sir?" the reporter questioned, obviously offended. "I was just askin' the girl a que'stion, that's all." My mother linked our arms, staring the man down.  
"I am the Earl of Manton," my father replied, making himself slightly taller as he said so. Even ill, my father had a presence.  
"So?" I could almost feel the tension between my father and the reporter mounting. "You're in America, lad. Being an earl don't mean nothin' 'ere." For a moment, the two men simply looked at each other, waiting for the other to make a move.  
Through the crowd, we heard the cry of a woman. "Mr. Grex!" My mother, father, and I began scanning the dozens of faces for the one that owned that voice. Miraculously, the voice made its way to us in the form of Mrs. Widener, Harry's mother.  
"Mrs. Widener!" I exclaimed, breaking away from my mother to embrace her. "Harry...?" She shook her head sadly.  
"No, my dear. I'm afraid that there's still no news of him." I hung my head. "Don't fret," she insisted. "We need to keep up hope, and prayer. That's what will bring Harry back to us." She then turned to my parents. "Why don't you all come with me. I'm set up in a hotel for the time being, and I wouldn't mind the company." With that, we all set out to the hotel that Mrs. Widener had spoken of.  
It felt like a relief to be on solid ground again, and much warmer than it had been on the boat, but I found myself continuously glancing back at it. Could Harry really be gone? Certainly, any moment, he'd step off that boat, a little worse for wear, but still alive. But he didn't, and he wouldn't. Harry was gone.

"When did you know that the ship was going to sink?" the reporter repeated, stating his question more simply as though he thought that I didn't understand. If only I didn't understand, I thought to myself, if only I could make the entire thing seem like nothing more than a dream. "Ms. Grex-"  
"I knew that the Titanic was sinking," I began. I said my words slowly and deliberately, wanting to completely and honestly recount what had occurred that night aboard the Titanic. I wanted no detail left unremembered, "when they called for all of the women and children to get on the lifeboats."  
"Were you in one of the first boats, miss?" he inquired, still writing my response to the previous question. Of all the memories streaming through my mind of that night, orders of getting into lifeboats seemed irrelevant. To him, however, I imagined that this was most important. In his mind, the wealthy and nobles would be offered salvation first, and they were. I just happened not to be there in time.  
"No, I was on one of the last ones they had." He nodded, not looking up from his pad. I looked out the window, the activity of the city outside so opposite from the silence, apart from the reporter's pen, within these walls.  
"Did you see the Titanic sink?" I nodded. "What was it like?"  
"Like watching the end of the world," I admitted, my eyes glazing over in memory. "For a time, we could see the lights of every cabin on, slowly being consumed by the water. Eventually, the electricity turned off, leaving us entirely in darkness, apart from the little lantern on our lifeboat. Then, we heard their screams. The desperate cries of those still on the boat, praying for anyone to save them. Their voices penetrated the darkness, slowly quieting as the night went on." It was then that the reporter looked up, eyes meeting mine as though to say that he understood. He then looked to his notepad once again.  
"From what information I've gathered, Miss Grex, it seems that your entire family survived?" he inquired.  
"Yes, we almost lost my father, but, by the grace of God, someone had brought brandy with them; and that revived him."  
"So you were fortunate enough not to lose anyone, Miss Grex. Others were not, I'm afraid."  
"You are wrong, sir," His eyes met mine once again, inquisitive and invasive. "I lost someone very dear to me."  
"Oh?" I nodded. "Would you mind elaborating?"  
"I'm sorry, sir. I don't share such personal things with the newspapers. Hence the list of questions you were given prior to this interview."  
"America has heard dozens of people's accounts to these questions. They're bored. They want something new about the Titanic sinking." My entire body stiffened as I felt rage welling up within me. All of those faces. All of those voices.  
"Sir, if America is bored listening to the stories of how thousands of people _died_-"  
"Ms. Grex, that's not what I'm saying," the reporter insisted, trying to calm me. "All I'm saying is that the world is continuing to turn, despite the Titanic having sunk. Every newspaper in the world has a first hand account of what it was like to watch the Titanic sink. They want something to hope for. A little glimmer of hope to say that things will be alright, despite the tragedy.  
"In that, I cannot help you, sir. What I can tell you is this: the Titanic is sunk, people are dead, and things _will not_ be okay."

Moments after the reporter left, Mrs. Widener entered the parlor of her Philadelphia home. One look at me and she shook her head.  
"I knew it was a mistake allowing you to talk to a reporter," she began, pacing to the window and then back to the sofa where I sat. "Your parents will be furious when they find out that I've allowed you to speak to one at all." I smirked slightly at the suggestion.  
"I doubt that they'll hear of it," I assured her. "It's not as though they get American newspapers in England."  
"Still, I shouldn't have allowed you to speak with him." Mrs. Widener and I had become quite close over the past few months, ever since she had offered to let me stay with her.  
"I practically forced you to," I reminded her. "I felt as though I needed to do my part."  
"Yes, and now you have and it can all be forgotten." Maybe I had done my duty according to society, but the memories of Harry and the others lost in the sinking made me feel otherwise.  
Outside, I saw that the world went on, just as he said it did. People were forgetting, sick as it was, the pain and shock when the "unsinkable ship" was swallowed by the sea.  
"What was the name of the reporter?" I inquired, having been in so much of a fog during the interview as to have never asked, nor have paid attention if he'd said it.  
"Joseph Daniels." He was right, a new version of the story needed to be written if people were to continue to remember the horror with the same vigor. As I did. "If you're going to write to complain, I think that you're completely entitled." For someone who hadn't even been in the room for questioning, she was quite passionate about my displeasure.  
"Not exactly, Mrs. Widener." She looked at me inquisitively. "In fact, it's quite the opposite."


	2. Chapter 2

Walking into the newspaper office the next morning, I felt slightly uneasy. Male workers sat at desks spread across the room, some shouting at each other rather than walking to the others' station. My presence was barely noticed until the only other woman in the entire building coughed. Finding myself relieved, I was sorely disappointed to find that she was not the kindred spirit I had hoped for.

"Who are you asking for?" she questioned, her voice flat.

"Joseph Daniels."

"Fifth cubical in the third row." Nodding, I once again took in the room, completely oblivious to what her reply had meant. Letting out a deep sigh, the woman explained.

"Three rows to your right, go to the fifth desk up." I thanked her, then made my way. I could feel the eyes of some of the men taking in my body, while others were so immersed in their work that my presence was hardly noticed. The reporter who I had met with the day before was one such man. Hunched over, he scribbled something profusely to the point where he was muttering to himself.

"Bloody high class woman," His voice more frustrated than actually angry, "if she could take her nose out of the air for one second, I-"

"I think you mean me," I interrupted, only slightly offended to hear his comments. Taken by surprise, Joseph Daniels jumped up from his position and turned towards me with wide eyes.

"Didn't anyone teach you to let people know you were around?" he questioned sarcastically, his eyes now back to their normal size and the only remnants of his shock being in the slight blush in his cheeks.

"Didn't anyone teach you not to talk about people behind their backs?" I mocked, not even trying to hide the "unladylike" smirk on my face. A rueful smile played at his lips.

"Fair enough, Ms. Grex. Fair enough. So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" It seemed like sarcasm was the only form in which he knew how to communicate. "We had such lovely conversation yesterday, after all." I knew the speech that I had prepared for him by heart, but it felt wrong to say them in this place, where everyone heard you, but no one was listening.

"Do you think, perhaps, we could take a turn about the park?" I asked, looking out the main window of the building to the park across the street. His brows furrowed slightly, looking down at his work. "I promise, I'll make it worth your while."

"You had better, Ms. Grex," he teased, "or I will be very put out."

As we walked, I took the moments to get a better look at him. He wasn't very old, early thirties at most, with dark brown hair. He stood a head taller than me, with a build that was neither fat nor thin, simply in the middle. I noted that he did not take the opportunity to glance at me again, instead keeping his focus on the road ahead.

"Your name is Joseph Daniels, correct?" I asked, making sure that we came to a point where I would be able to call him by his name, rather than "the reporter." He glanced briefly at me, then returned his gaze to the street that we were crossing, protectively holding his right arm in front of me, as though to shield me from either being hurt by all of the traffic, or from entering into it. His brows furrowed in concentration, unresponsive to my question. Moments later, he motioned that it was time to cross the street, taking me by the wrist and pulling me along. At first, it felt like the familiar tugging of Harry as he pulled me across the boat deck, desperate to find me a boat.

Once we reached the other side and had merged into the walking trail of the park, he looked at me. "I'm sorry, what was your question?"

"Your name. It's Joseph Daniels, correct?"

He nodded. "Yes, and you are Georgiana Grex, daughter or the Earl and Countess of Manton." He didn't offer me his arm, as a gentleman would, but instead strode next to me slowly, staying at the pace I had chosen. I knew that I was stalling. I had become almost immobile, so immersed in my thoughts. How to begin? What should I share, I wondered, and what was mine to keep to myself? Mr. Daniels took notice. "And what is it, Ms. Grex, that you wanted to speak to me about?"

I may not have known where to start the story that he would put in the paper, but I knew what I wanted to say to him.

"You were right," I admitted. "Terrible as it is, horrible as it is, you were right. Everyday people think and speak less about the Titanic, and think of it as little more than a sad accident. They've forgotten that so many lives were lost." A sudden face came to my mind. "Poor Mr. Sandrini..."

"Was he the loved one that you lost?" Mr. Daniels inquired, his face quite surprised, no doubt thinking it odd that a noble English woman would fall for an Italian.

"No, he was not." He nodded, seeing that his suspicions were incorrect. "He was my server." In truth, I hadn't known his name until after he was dead. I recognized him as the server who had winked at me that first night at dinner, and asked the woman who sat by his side who he was. Poor Annie Desmond, she and I felt a similar loss; having lost the men that we were going to marry.

Joseph Daniels looked at me in surprise, something that I supposed he would be doing a lot of as my story unfolded. "You knew his name, though? Were you friends?"

"No, sir." I smiled sadly. "We never exchanged words. He only winked at me."

"Just like an Italian," Daniels muttered under his breath.

"What does that have anything to do with it, his nationality?" I questioned angrily. "Is an Englishman or Irishman or Scotsman any less able or likely to wink at a person?"

Taken aback, Mr. Daniels attempted to explain himself. "It's not that, m'lady. It's just...Italians lack a certain amount of _class_." I rolled my eyes. "But that's besides the point. You were saying how right I am...?" I let out a breath, away that I would not change his opinions.

"You were right about people needing to see another side of the story. A personal side, and I'd be willing to provide that for you." His eyes widened slightly and his eyebrows shot up.

"Honestly? You would be willing to make yourself emotionally vulnerable to the public?" he asked, not quite sure to believe my statement. "But why? You certainly don't need the money I'm willing to pay."

"It's just something I must do. For those who were lost." Silence hung in the air until his curiosity could no longer contain him.

"But it will not simply be tails of fine dining and beautiful gowns, will it? Because, if that's the case, I'm-"

"Mr. Daniels," I interrupted, wanting to quiet him. "It will not be a story of fine dining and beautiful gowns."

"Then what will it be of?" As if by providence, we had made a full circle of the trail at this point and were once again nearing the street we had crossed.

"Love, loss, and continuing on."

We crossed the street much as we had the first time, and parted with his assurance that he would come to call the next day. After this, I made my way back to the Widener's house, where Mrs. Widener waited for me.

"Georgiana!" she greeted, her smile tight as I entered the sitting room. I did not see the face of the person who sat on the other side of the room, their image obscured by the fireplace wall. "Did your inquiry prove satisfactory."

"Yes, it most certainly did," I replied hesitantly, unsure of how to respond to her stiff speech. When I had fully entered the room, I saw two strangers sitting on the couch furthest from where Mrs. Widener was sitting. A woman, who looked to be Mrs. Widener's age, and a man, not much older than Harry, sat next to her. There was nothing about the two that inspired discomfort, though I was immediately on edge because my hostess was so, although she tried to hide it.

"Miss Georgiana Grex," Mrs. Widener began formally, "may I introduce you to my sister-in-law, Mrs. Louisa Gilbert, and her son, Mr. Allen Gilbert." I didn't know what it was about her in-laws that made Mrs. Widener so distressed, but I was certain to find out.


End file.
